wytchcroft

You know it's time to go up, up, up, up,
Had a Big Machine ridin' your shoulders...
Pearl's Dream - Bat for Lashes (Natasha Khan)

Could be we riding that strange train, that mystery train, like the Soom Express.
Express… what's left to express - all the music hear that as we crash through the doors - burst through the splinters, what the carriages carry, money in military bags and the music hear (it's a big machine) that Tokyo arcade density - you got any questions? You got an equation for that?

Written out in long hand on a mildewed yellow pad - Je suis français - this is my pad, this is your world - but enough of that.

And on and on the carriages rumble (it's a big machine) and on and on the chimney just screams, looking out through the window to a million scenes, a hundred countries and all the people just dancing to the music of the rails.

These Songs are so familiar, it's an easy recall, that bag of Kate Bush tapes you left me - i never listened to them at all. And here's you and here's me, someone must have pressed record, someone must have pressed it by mistake… coz hears you, hears me and hears we laughing in that hotel room and mumbling half-asleep. I was singing "when i'm free" and you were singing "mmm… maybe, baby", but we couldn't be.

So blow the trains doors open darling, let’s dynamite the night and go - like a Rocket to the Moon, c’mon like a comet into snow - oh it's a big machine, just let it roll.

Regarde Moi, Je suis la Garde; i'll take that ticket - i'll check the time table, just take a look at all these tables, the compartments are inviting the centuries to blur, the years to roll away, it could be 1887, it could be tomorrow or today. These glimmering figures, these fashions change; a lady with a dog and a pair of ruffled fur gloves, a slim businessman polishing his eye-glasses on an attaché case perched across his lap –
and then there’s me in my old ripped jeans and you with a hole in your boot and the whole train just smelling of soot and cigarettes and sweat, better get your hands on some change.
Wrap your knuckles round the currency love, put a coin into the slot and sing along.

It's a big machine.

i hear the roar of the Big Machine,
smell the oil and methodrine...
The Sisters of Mercy